


Noon Hours

by ianavi



Series: Sylvan Seasons [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fauns & Satyrs, Fawnlock, Forests, M/M, Mating, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Nature, Rutting, Scenting, Summer, naked swimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 04:38:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5234396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ianavi/pseuds/ianavi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a bright and blisteringly hot day like this one memories of foggy mornings seemed distant and surreal.<br/>John missed him. Painfully so. The unexpected intensity, the unknown, the extraordinary pleasure of their few encounters.</p><p>A short summery sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4420397">At Dawn</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Noon Hours

He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to wander. Listening to the buzz and chirp of crickets and other insects basking in the summer sun John sunk his exhausted muscles into the sofa.

On a bright and blisteringly hot June day like this one memories of foggy mornings seemed distant and surreal.

John missed him. Painfully so. The unexpected intensity, the unknown, the extraordinary pleasure of their few encounters.

On the wings of all that spring excitement he had finished his second novel which thrilled his editor and promised another contract. But now summer brought a sense of yearning and loss.

He'd taken long walks into the woods at different times of the day for many weeks. Even once, cautiously, during the night. He supposed it was pointless to go looking as they had always met at the cabin and he had no idea where to search.

Two months and no sign of the buck.

John used to favor summer as the colder months aggravated his injured shoulder. He loved strenuous garden work and the crop that was starting to come in - lots of greens, peas, early potatoes. He foraged in the woods for dandelion greens, morel mushrooms, wild garlic, and once or twice a week he swam in the nearby stream.

Berries slowly replaced apples at breakfast and he was often too lazy to deal with the stove and would brew his tea and infusions in the sun. Sweetened with the excellent honeydew honey he'd get from an apiarist at the town's monthly market.

He'd work the garden in the morning before midday, a few hours of weeding, planting, watering before it got too hot. The afternoons and long evenings were devoted to writing, frequently on the small desk he'd set up on the back porch.

John loved summers. But the noon hours dragged on.

The cabin was stuffy although most windows and the back door were wide open and John was ready for a nap. He'd done more work today than was his norm, reinstating watering ducts for his growing tomatoes, eggplants and melons.

Sweaty midday naps often meant glimpses in dreams and John allowed himself some pleasurable release upon waking.

After a couple years of reclusion he'd become set in his ways. He'd even say he felt himself age. But now he was shaken back to a version of himself before the injuries, before his discharge and retirement to the cabin. His libido was again strong and his outlook more optimistic. The nightmares of the war that used to haunt him were rare. He dreamt of moss and crushed flowers, antlers and grunts, his hands deep in thick fragrant curls.

It was fine.

It had been much more than he thought possible. He felt awake and happy.

But he still fucking missed him.

Another record-breaking hot day cooped up in the cabin at lunchtime. Too hot to eat. John stood sweaty over the sink pouring running water over his forearms and wetting his face and neck.

Enough. He was going for a swim. Now.

Aware there was no chance of running into anyone John had years ago abandoned swim shorts in favor of simply stripping down and enjoying the chilly fresh water of the stream naked.

He allowed his body to cool down as he lazily maneuvered in the water, wetting his head and taking several gulps. The stream was not as turbulent as during the snowmelt of the spring and he dived and floated at his leisure.

Finally he climbed out and with a delighted exhale lay down in the shade of a large oak tree.

A cool murmur of water and the fresh smell of grasses and elderflower. And so peaceful. He couldn't help and smile as he looked up into the lavish treetops, leaves whispering in the softest breeze.

John stretched out and picked a nearby sorrel leaf to chew on. Cool now, he soon found a comfortable position to settle and let his eyes close.

The briefest rustle woke him.

John looked up, expecting perhaps a bird in the nearby bushes.

"Oh." He sat up to face the buck that stood tall just a few steps from him.

One hoof tapping in the lush grasses. His mature antlers spanned an impressive width but were still in sensitive velvet. John looked him over, stared at the impressive rack of antlers. He seemed stronger, wilder.

Magnificent. And magical.

John longed to get up fully, to get closer but was terrified the buck would run.

Grey eyes watched him with some trepidation. One ear twitched.

"Please...," he whispered opening up the palm of his right hand.

And just like that he was enveloped in strong arms, hot breaths against his neck, hands pulling him in, stuttering clicks and sighs.

His heart pounding, John rubbed his face into the buck's lightly furred shoulder and took in deep breaths of his fragrance. It had been too long. Small nips at his cheek, over his lips, licks and kisses. He trembled and felt his eyes tear up.

The buck pulled back slightly and looking puzzled ran a finger over one sliding teardrop. Small grunts.

"Just happy to see you again, just that." John nuzzled against the warm hand.

He was pulled in closer to straddle strong thighs, the buck's arms surrounding him, hands brushing over his back and buttocks possessively as deeper guttural sounds were voiced. 

A feeling of warmth overcame him. Need, longing.

Without shame John reached up to grasp the antlers with both hands, offering his mouth, rubbing his naked chest and stomach into the hot musky fur of his buck.

His buck.

Who was clearly just as enamored with him. Spreading his thighs to grasp his thick cock in its rough calloused fingers. It took so little. John, breathing in the scent of the wild, the forest, the sex, cried out and orgasmed, his fingers running up the soft velvet.

Smearing John's skin with semen, the buck thrust his own erection against John's sweaty skin, his hands powerfully, bruisingly gripping the smaller man that straddled him, mouth frantically working against skin and lips as several lavish spurts covered John's chest and stomach.

They stayed tightly holding onto each other for some time. John sank into his buck's arms, smiling with joy as his muscles unwound, his eyes closed.

"Beautiful."

Around them the forest returned to a drowsy hum of insects, leaves, water.


End file.
